Triskell
by Triskell
Summary: When Catlin tends to a wounded Conor, she faces her deepest and most secret fears...
1. Part I

**Disclaimer:** The characters of Roar are the copyright property of Ron Koslow and Shaun Cassidy. No copyright infringement is intended. 

PLEASE HAVE A LOOK AT THE END OF THE STORY FOR ADDITIONAL NOTES.  
  
This story takes place approximately five years after "Red Boots" and its assumed that the episodes after it haven't taken place. Finally betaed, thanks to Kati!

**TRISKELL (1)  
PART ONE**  
© Triskell, 2000

  
The sun rose on the autumn woods, its thinning ray casting golden sparks all over the trees, colouring the world in rich reds and browns.  
  
A silent figure stood near a knoll of weatherworn oaks, leaning on a bow-caster. Her gaze rested on the rolling green hills before her, and her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly when the soft winds moved the blades of grass in the distance.   
  
"Tired?"  
  
She turned round in a flash, battle-poised, at the sound of footsteps and came face to face with Conor. He smiled, brushing aside the sword that pointed at his chest.  
  
"Ya need rest. I'll take over."  
  
She shook her head, her eyes travelling across the vast hills before her once more.   
  
"I don't trust this," her arm encompassed the landscape around them, "it's too quiet, too peaceful. The Romans are lurking in the shadows, they know we haven't found a safe place for the winter yet and we can't keep the elders and children in hiding forever. A few more weeks, and we'll run out of food."  
  
"You're tired. Take a nap. I don't like all this anymore than you do, and I - we'll - figure out a way; we always have until now."  
  
Her eyes softened when he sighed and she turned towards the trees, where their small band had stayed for most of the night. Conor was just as worn and tired as she was, but he was determined to let her get some sleep, and she was grateful for the respite, however brief it might turn out to be.  
  
The young man watched her settle down beside Tully, Fergus and Molly then concentrated on the hills as she had done moments ago.  
  
~*~  
  
Conor's eyes darkened with rage when he remembered how the Romans had overrun the Sanctuary, not so many moons ago. They had had to evacuate their hiding place, and thank Brigit no one had been killed. But life in the woods was dangerous - not solely because of the impending chance of being found by the Romans - but more because of the approaching winter, the cold and the absence of proper shelter and enough food and water for all of them. That was why he and his friends had set out to find a suitable place for them all to spend the cold season.  
  
He had undertaken a great responsibility, he knew. The welfare of great many depended almost solely on him, on his ability to provide for and protect them. He hadn't wanted to be a leader, yet fate had left him no other choice. He had accepted his destiny and even though he sometimes wondered at his decision, he knew he couldn't have lived with refusing to honour his heritage and calling.   
  
The fresh morning dew shone in the rising sun - tiny, iridescent sparkles in an ocean of green - and the smell of wet grass was an almost palpable sensation. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the clean scent wash over him, filling him. The ground beneath his feet seemed to draw deep breaths, just like him, bracing him for the fights that were to come.  
  
~*~  
  
A hoarse cry tore Catlin from her much needed sleep. She was wide-awake in a moment, jumping to her feet and drawing her sword. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Tully, Molly and Fergus - poised and ready to fight, then she was drawn mercilessly into the fray.   
  
Roman soldiers had crept up on Conor from behind, and though they hadn't managed to completely surprise him, they had been able to benefit from his weariness to come quite close before he detected them.  
  
There were ten or fifteen Roman scouts against the five of them. It was no question of them winning. Conor's battle cry rose to the sky, spurning them on and Catlin soon joined him, guarding his back. Molly and Tully fought side by side and Fergus kept in their midst. This kind of formation had developed naturally and proven to be most effective and safest for them all.  
  
The Romans stood no chance against the fury of the Celtic warriors, and though they all breathed a lot more heavily when it was over, they shook the last remnants of sleep off, took their small satchels and let the silent woods swallow their traces and cover their retreat.  
  
~*~  
  
"We should've taken the horses. We aren't going fast enough."  
  
"Not a good idea, child. Roman patrols are all about; we couldn't hide the horses."  
  
Conor nodded absent-mindedly, his eyes following Catlin's retreating form as she went farther into the shadows to pray.  
  
"We're all burned out and time's running short. We must find shelter for the winter. Sweet Brigit! There must be a place around here somewhere!"  
  
Fergus clapped his hand on his shoulder, managing a grumbling "I know" as he silently shook his head. The odds were against them, the Romans had overrun most of the land and safety for their people seemed like a thing of the past.   
  
~*~  
  
Catlin's prayers had always been full of faith, but lately she had pleaded more fervently than ever before. She saw the pain in Conor's eyes, the resignation on Fergus' face, and the forced determination in Tully and Molly. None of them would admit to it, but they all knew they had in all probability already lost the war.  
  
Even the druids had been forced to flee the Romans; no one knew where they were hiding. Villages were raided day after day and the invaders' rule was strengthened by the approach of winter as people sought shelter and food and were therefore easier to track and to hunt down.  
  
"Dear Lord, have mercy on us. We must keep our people safe, we can't let them down, oh Jesus, please, and we need thy heavenly grace to succeed…"  
  
Catlin shook her head softly, tears escaping from her eyes. It was futile. She was losing hope fast, and so was everyone else. What scared her most was that she knew they'd all rather die than fail those that depended on them. So they'd go on searching, fight a foe that had control over most of the isle, and resources of men they could never hope to win against.  
  
So many things had changed in the past years. The fights had cost them dear, all the innocence of their youth was gone, the eyes of men they'd slain burned in their minds, and their sleep was never free of nightmarish visions of their own doom.  
  
A soft rustle behind her and she was on her feet, ready to draw her sword as she turned.   
  
"I didn't want to frighten you."  
  
She shook her head, brushing the tears from her cheeks as Conor approached, flopping down onto the grass beside her unceremoniously. She smiled as she seated herself by his side. He looked into the darkness while he spoke, his voice barely a whisper.  
  
"We're losing, aren't we?"  
  
"I hope not."  
  
His eyes met hers then, a smile playing on his lips. "Did your God tell you we had a chance?"  
  
"No, my heart does."  
  
"There's so many of them…I'd say the odds are against us."  
  
Catlin reached out, laying her hand on his arm. "As long as we fight, there's still hope. The Lord is good, we must believe, even if what we wish for seems impossible at times."  
  
"You have more faith in this than I do. Sometimes I'm not sure if there's any use in going on at all."  
  
"You mustn't say that! Don't resign yourself to a future that's not even clear. You mustn't lose hope that we can win!"  
  
His smile was tinged with sadness; he hugged his knees, his head dropping onto his crossed arms - a protective gesture, a futile attempt to let the world pass him by.  
  
"We must believe, Conor. If it can't get worse it'll just have to get better."  
  
"I wish I had your faith, Catlin. But I'm tired. I've spent the past five years fighting for my country and have seen it taken, abused and burned down by the Romans - and there was nothing I could do."  
  
"You've done so much! You've lead a great many warriors…"  
  
"To their deaths."  
  
"Most of us would rather die than to give up and surrender. You gave those that wanted to fight someone to look up to - and you protected those that couldn't help themselves. You're a hero for the people!"  
  
"And what else am I? Do I still exist as anything but this…this heroic figure that stories make of me?"  
  
Oh, he existed as many other things - at least for Catlin - he was the man she loved, with a passion and strength beyond all she had ever imagined herself capable of; he was someone she'd die for, follow no matter where he might lead her; he was her dearest companion, a true and loving friend, and a compassionate and understanding leader - so many things to tell him, if only she found the words. In these days, life was shorter than one thought.  
  
"You're a very special person, Conor. When we first met you were…more a boy than a warrior, but you have changed, grown by your responsibilities and duties while still retaining your warm heart and your compassion. You've lost so much in the past years, and yet you've never given up. You saved so many lives and even Fergus has accepted you as leader; he respects you for being the man you are - we all do."  
  
Conor fixed his dark eyes on her as she spoke, staring intently at him, trying to convince him. And - by Brigit - she was succeeding. He smiled, taking her hand.  
  
"I won't give up, Catlin, not as long as you're with me." A short pause ensued, then he pulled himself together and rose, pulling the young woman up with him. "Go, get some sleep, I'll take the first watch." She nodded, moving away, then, as if following a sudden impulse turned round and kissed his cheek. Before he could say another word, she rejoined the others and Conor forced himself to tear his eyes from his friends and to concentrate on watching the dark horizon.  
  
~*~  
  
"They've found us, get up!"  
  
Tully shook his sleeping companions and the routine of years took over. They were awake and ready when the Roman patrol came into full view. There were about twenty or thirty of them, all on horseback, and they didn't ask questions.   
  
The Celts soon found themselves surrounded, but danger was nothing new and Conor was determined not to let this be the end. Catlin sensed his drawing back and followed him, beckoning to the others to do the same. "We won't go down without a fight." Conor's voice echoed in her ears though he had barely spoken above a whisper. It was a challenge to them all and from the proud grin on Fergus' face, Molly's clenched teeth and Tully's lips moving as if to recite magic words Catlin saw that all felt the same.  
  
They retreated, keeping their breathing even and ignoring the beating of their hearts, their eyes never leaving the men that had surrounded them. They were closing in on them, thinking they were ready to give up. They formed a circle, their backs to each other and when Catlin saw the look of surprise on the patrol leader's face, she nudged Conor.  
  
He cast a look at her, grinning. So this was it - life or death - a decision of fate made at the point of their swords. She smiled back at him, and joined in his roar when he charged the Romans, frightening their horses with the sudden noise and taking them by surprise.  
  
Before the soldiers had time to properly react, five of them lay dead - and the surge of strength the sheer will to live gave the Celts was enough to carry them through almost half of the battle - then the strain made itself noticed. Still they fought on, grim and determined. After having survived the battle this far they wouldn't let anyone defeat them.  
  
"Oh, Lord, help us." Catlin whispered under her breath, just as Conor fell heavily against her back, throwing her forward with his weight. She barely evaded her opponent's sword, and used her kneeling position to ram her sword deep into his heart.  
  
Conor slumped down beside her just then, his face and torso bloody, and the Roman doubled over. On an instinct, Catlin let herself roll on top of her friend, thereby evading the blade that slashed into the man she had just killed and giving her a moment to take Conor's sword that had dropped out of his hand and slicing it straight across her attacker's chest. He collapsed on top of his comrade, his blood seeping into the earth through the reddened grass.  
  
~*~  
  
Catlin was on her knees, casting a look at Conor's pain-distorted face, taking in the ugly gash on his chest near his heart, and the cut at his temple. Hearing the rattling of Roman armour approaching, she jumped up with a blood-curdling scream, Conor's heavy sword held high, and bore on the man in front of her, slashing down on him, defending her wounded friend's body with the blazing fury of the agony that tore through her.  
  
She couldn't remember her prayers as she blindly flung herself into the fray, almost enjoying the sound of the blade cutting through flesh, oblivious to the blood that gushed out of the Romans' wounds and onto her tunic. Her throat was raw with her screams; her voice seemed hoarse, as if she was tearing her heart out of her body with every movement.  
  
Suddenly it seemed eerily quiet as the last soldier fell at her feet and she dimly heard a voice behind her telling her to put down the sword, that it was over; then a hand was on her shoulder and the haze that had partly obscured her vision disappeared as tears fell freely and sobs wrecked her body.  
  
Fergus slowly approached her, careful to let her know he was coming, taking the sword from her, and bracing her as she slumped against his chest for a moment. He had never seen her like this and he most certainly had never before seen anyone fighting like this. She had scared the life out of the soldiers; sweet Brigit, she had even scared him…  
  
Catlin forced the sobs down, straightened herself, her whole mind focused on Conor as she pushed past Fergus only moments later and crossed the short distance to where his body lay. Molly had already torn his clothes and was pressing her hand on the wound in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding.  
  
Tully was poised, his eyes darting around, ready to cut down anyone else who might draw near and Fergus took up the same pose as the women tightly bound the wound, pressing a make-shift pad against the bloody gash. While Molly saw to Conor's temple with trembling hands, Catlin carefully brushed the drying blood from his face, smoothing the tumbled, dirty locks from his brow with a tender motion.   
  
Her heart ached looking at him, his heaving breaths growing shallower as his friends sat watching over him. They had moved from the scene of battle, Fergus carrying Conor, pausing only now and then to rest his aching arms for a moment. Hidden in the underbrush they had passed most of the night, and now, as dawn broke, they moved farther into the shadows, each of them praying silently to their Gods to let Conor live.  
  
   
  
Notes:  
  
(1) Triskell:  
Celtic symbol of life consisting of three spirals flowing into each other that stand for the three elements earth, fire and water. 


	2. Part II

**Disclaimer:** The characters of Roar are the copyright property of Ron Koslow and Shaun Cassidy. No copyright infringement is intended. 

PLEASE HAVE A LOOK AT THE END OF THE STORY FOR ADDITIONAL NOTES.  
  
This story takes place approximately five years after "Red Boots" and its assumed that the episodes after it haven't taken place. Finally betaed, thanks to Kati!  
  
  


**TRISKELL (1)   
PART TWO**  
© Triskell, 2000

  
Catlin dozed off sometime around midday, Conor's head in her lap, her hands absently stroking his forehead, even in sleep. Her thoughts wandered and her dreams were haunted by the mad fury that had overtaken her in the past night. Her Lord had preached forgiveness and love above all, and now, instead of simply defending herself and those she had sworn to protect, she had…enjoyed killing those men. Revenge…it was sweet after all, it had given her a brute strength and taken all rational thought from her.  
  
She saw herself dance with the Roman soldiers in wild, passionate movements, heard their death cries echoing in the back of her mind and felt a dry, bitter exhilaration at seeing them fall for what they had done to Conor. Again and again, she felt him fall heavily against her back, experienced the horror of seeing his limp form beside her. She relived those terrifying scenes again and again, no change ever breaking the spiral of desolation and anger she was drawn into. It rolled into her consciousness like the roaring waves crashing against the dark cliffs and despair was the only emotion it left behind in Catlin's pained memory.  
  
…Conor fell, once again; she was on her knees and he dropped onto the earth; she pushed the sword into the Roman who had hurt him, put all her might into the slashing blade and…all was quiet, she felt her anger dissipating and, looking around, found she was alone, Conor's body outlined in the moonlight, a ghostly lifeless silhouette in the night, terrifyingly real in the haze of her dream.  
  
Catlin sat by his side, and for once her hands were still, she didn't try to stop the blood oozing from his wound and staining the ground around her - she knew he was dying, that there was no hope of saving him and her heart went cold. Her body ached, but all she was aware of was the void only he had ever truly filled and in the core of her soul burned loneliness too acute to bear.   
  
Her eyes dropped from his bloodied face to the earth, the grass dyed a gloomy, reddish black and she saw his blood drawing its way in circles, forming spirals and flowing into an ancient symbol she faintly remembered having seen before. Then it was gone and she wanted to scream, let go of all her pain and she opened her mouth and screamed as she had never done before, so loud it broke all her barriers, all her resolve and left her painfully vulnerable and lost…  
  
"Catlin!"  
  
Her eyes snapped open, and she stared at Molly's tired face, dimly aware of the weight in her lap and a hand tightly clasping her shoulder, another holding her mouth. She wriggled and the hands receded, to be replaced by Fergus voice at her ear, "You alright, lass?" She nodded, and then shook her head, unable to place any of the emotions that boiled inside her.  
  
"You screamed, and we didn't know…"  
  
"A…nightmare…"  
  
"You mumbled something, child. Something I couldn't quite understand."  
  
"In my dream I saw…a symbol…" Catlin suddenly broke off, looking down at Conor, softly taking his face into her hands and, looking at Fergus, asked with all the composure she could muster: "Will he live?"  
  
Molly stared at her, then averted her eyes, Tully laid his hand on her arm and Fergus, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, slowly shook his head.   
  
"His breathing's coming irregularly, and the wound won't stop bleeding…" Molly began to cry, noiselessly, grasping Conor's hand tightly.   
  
"How long?"  
  
"I don't know, lass. A few hours, a day, maybe two…"  
  
"We mustn't lose any time - you three go on - I'll keep watch here."  
  
Fergus was indignant, but the look in her eyes booked no argument, not even from him. She seemed like a vixen, intent on protecting her cub at all costs, as she wrapped her arms around Conor's limp body, holding him tight against her. Tully motioned for Fergus and Molly to join him, and they moved a few feet away, eyeing Catlin suspiciously as they debated what to do.  
  
~*~  
  
"We can't leave her here all alone with Conor. If the Romans find her…"  
  
"She's right, Tully. The people depend on us to find a place for hibernation. And we can't afford to stay here."  
  
"Can't we take him with us?"  
  
"That's out of the question, Molly. I don't like the idea very much either, but he'd only hold us up."  
  
"What if one of us stayed with Catlin?"  
  
"She wants us to leave…I think she's got her reasons…it's hard to say good-bye, especially when you care for someone…"  
  
Molly shot Tully a glance, then looked over to where Catlin was stroking Conor's forehead, rocking him gently, as if to put him to sleep. Her tenderness was pointed, and her feelings plainly evident in the tears that ran across her cheeks and the desperate prayers her lips formed.  
  
"I think I know what you mean."  
  
"We all care for Conor." Fergus grumbled. Not that he liked to admit it, but the boy was like a son for him and the thought of losing him…he stopped himself from following the thought any further as tears were already stinging in his eyes and he wasn't going to let the others see just how much this all affected him.  
  
"I don't want to leave them either, Da."  
  
"We've got to make up our minds quickly. I can't help feeling as if Catlin didn't need our protection, not after the way she fought last night. She was like a fury, more like a creature from the Otherworld than a mortal woman."  
  
Fergus nodded lamely. "We leave them here, then."  
  
Molly's "Aye" was barely to be heard, and Tully didn't sound anymore optimistic, when he agreed either.  
  
They rose, making their way towards Catlin and Conor.  
  
"You're sure you don't want one of us to stay, lass?"  
  
"We'll be fine. Take care of the others. I swear…" Catlin broke off, her head shaking softly as if to fight against a thought she had no intention of letting break through.  
  
They said good-bye, as calmly as possible, seeing Conor's form lie still, in agony and close to death and the pain in Catlin's face that mingled with a determination so strong that, for a moment, Molly doubted her being quite in her right mind…  
  
~*~  
  
Catlin knew how hard it must have been for the others to leave them. But she couldn't allow them all to be caught up in this. Her dream had been vivid, so strong and real it still haunted her every thought. The sign, drawn out of Conor's blood had been a Triskell - the symbol of life. Yet her friend was close to death, she didn't need a healer to tell. But, having been brought up to believe in dreams, to let them guide her in her decisions, she couldn't quite brush it aside. The only thing that frightened her about it was, that, for her, a Triskell had become a heathen symbol, as far from her belief as the faith in the Celtic Gods her other friends adhered to.  
  
She closed her eyes and prayed to her Lord, laying all the conviction she had ever had, all her love for Conor in her words: "Dear Jesus, if it pleases thee to take him, then let me be at his side, let me join him in the realm of thy eternal grace…" She broke off, realizing that the Great Divide would probably forever separate her from Conor - due to their religions.   
  
She prayed to the Christian Lord alone, he worshipped many different Gods and until now she had never regarded this as all that important. She had supposed that although they would in all probability never be together in this life, there was still the chance of a reunion in eternity, but, thinking about the implications of their beliefs this didn't seem at all likely to happen.  
  
Catlin looked at Conor's immobile features again, shuddering involuntarily. Her heart missed a beat, and the pain constricted her body, leaving her feeling faint and sick. The fact that she hadn't eaten for more than a day didn't make it any better either. She checked Conor's wound, brushing over his temples and shivering at the hot, feverish skin beneath her hand.   
  
Here she was, the man she loved so dearly a dead weight in her lap and the day ticking by, moment after moment, each passage of time drawing her love deeper into the arms of death, into an embrace he would never return from. "Good Lord, I swore I'd give him up to…some woman or other, as long as he was happy, I couldn't have…but this - why? Why do you pain me so? Test my faith, do, but…not on him, not with his death! Jesus, have mercy, save him, I would gladly die in his stead, Lord, and I beg you, hear my prayers, have mercy…"  
  
She was crying, sobbing, bile was rising in her throat. All of a sudden, the Triskell flashed back into her mind and it seemed as if it were beckoning to her, drawing her nearer. The memories of her earliest childhood returned, unbidden and she found herself wondering if this was her punishment for abandoning her Gods for the Christian Lord whose goodness and grace had led her safely through the years of humiliation and slavery.  
  
This thought was one she couldn't dismiss so easily, and with Conor's breathing coming in soft gasps, his forehead hot and his body twitching in horridly desolate fever dreams, the pain in her mind augmented and magnified till all she knew was a black maze of fearful guilt and sharp, blazing destitution.  
  
~*~  
  
"Do you think they're alright?"  
  
Fergus looked up from the fire he was tending, and grunted irritably. He was worried and the fact that Conor was, given the shape he had been in when they left, in all probability already dead by now couldn't be brushed aside.  
  
"Sweet Brigit, we shouldn't worry, we'd better pray the Gods have mercy on the boy."  
  
Tully put his arm around Molly, seeing the anguish on her face. She leaned against him, searching for comfort in his warmth. Fergus mumbled something under his breath, then rose and went to join them.  
  
"Shall we go on, then? There's nothing we can do for the two of them now."  
  
They nodded, taking their bundles and weapons, while Fergus extinguished their small campfire. It was a few more hours before sunset; they had better make the best of it. So they continued their search, a prayer for Conor always echoing in the back of their minds.  
  
~*~  
  
Catlin only knew one thing with complete certainty - that the dream she had had, the vision, had shown her not only her past, but also a possible future. There were various rites that, if performed correctly, could save those already on the threshold of death. But these rites were Celtic, heathen, born of traditions she had vowed to forget.   
  
It was clear that she had a choice here - throw all the things she had learned as a Christian overboard and reconsider her former religion, the one that belonged to the land she had been born into - or - face the inevitable separation from Conor.  
  
"Dear Lord Jesus, give me a sign, tell me what to do!" Performing the rites without believing in them would be a sacrilege. The Gods wanted to be venerated and honoured, not used. This was one thing they had in common with her Lord, after all. 'See the truth in your beliefs and sail across the skies.' She heard the soft voice of her grandmother; talking to the little girl she had once been who had listened with wide-open eyes to the ancient stories.  
  
Catlin closed her eyes. She let herself fall, tried to let go of all her fears and uncertainties. There was only one question now…who or what did she believe in? The Lord who had saved her soul during the most painful years of her life? Or the Gods she had come to accept as a part of her heritage?  
  
Involuntarily, her hand sought Conor's forehead, touching it softly and then gliding deeper, towards the bandage half-covering his heart. She halted there, feeling the hot skin and the fainting heartbeat and her eyes filled with tears once again. She was empty, there were no thoughts left now; it was useless to pretend. Conor was dying and she had no way to save him. "Sweet Jesus, help me!"  
  
Catlin's eyes snapped open, her cheeks wet and her breath ragged. It was Jesus whom she trusted in, her Lord whom she had worshipped for the better part of her life! But why had she dreamt of the Triskell then? It was a heathen symbol, had no connection to her beliefs anymore. Could it be that she was trying to grasp at straws, searching for a cure for death in her childhood memories? Her unshakable trust in Jesus had healed her when she had thought her eyesight lost - and though she had never believed it possible all her friends, and most of all Conor, had accepted her faith. They had even asked her about her religion, about Jesus. Instead of losing those she had come to regard as her family it had brought them closer to her…  
  
Involuntarily, her right hand moved over her belt, to the spot where she had sewn on a little pouch - to keep a pressed flower. One of those Conor had given her to show her he cared, no matter what. He had told her never to keep anything from him again…and she had. A bitter smile forced its way on her lips - she could have said, "I love you." It would have been easy. But she never had. Perhaps because she'd not dared to hope that Conor returned her feelings.  
  
And now it was too late…  
  
"Jesus, in your grace and mercy, give me a sign, show me what to do…" Her throat constricted and choked off her words as she broke into sobs. It was so hopeless, there was no chance of saving Conor and she knew it…  
  
~*~~  
  
Catlin was walking along a river, alone. The woods shook with the fury of a storm; thunder crashed and lightening broke the eerie dimness around her.  
  
She sat on a stone, as if all the tumult were no more than a breeze, and realized she was crying. It seemed as if she sat there for ages, and her heart ached with loneliness and longing for a touch that was never to be. She shivered when the rain began to pelt down on her, immobile in her pain.  
  
Suddenly, a rough woollen cloak enveloped her and someone held her from behind, safe and warm. It was like coming home and she sought to snuggle closer, keep this feeling forever…  
  
"Conor!"  
  
"You were hard to find, Catlin. But there's no place you can hide - I'll always find you."  
  
She wanted to protest, say that he couldn't be with her, but the warmth of his body was a tangible sensation at her back and his lips skimming her cheek sent shivers down her spine. So real…and yet so…impossible.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"You told me to believe, and I do, I believe in the cause we're fighting for…and in your friendship."  
  
Catlin felt ready to cry, to break down. She turned round uncertainly and looked straight into those soft, warm eyes, brown as the soil on a field in the morning dew. So real…she reached out, touching his cheek hesitantly. The smell of him assailed her senses; she had cherished it every moment she was close enough and dreamt of it at night so many times…  
  
And then the lightning struck, a tree went up in flames, blazing in golden reds and oranges. Suddenly the sound of the water beside her rushed through her veins and, still locking her eyes to Conor's she understood…  
  
~*~  
  
Catlin woke, shivering in the cold air. This had been more than just a simple dream - it had been a vision, of that she was certain. And she knew that she had tasted the power of the Gods inhabiting her homelands, a grace of those she never dishonoured even though she no longer believed in their sovereignty.  
  
"Oh, Jesus, forgive me for this…I do believe in you, but Conor's the one I live for, the one whose life is dearest to me. I can't let this offering pass me by. Forsake me, if you will, but I beg you, forgive this trespass as an act of truest love."  
  
Her hands shook, while she tried hard to remember what she knew of the ancient rites - what her grandmother had told her, what the stories of her childhood had taught her.  
  
It was time to act, now. She would call to Balder, the God of the runes and herb medicines. If anyone could tell her of a way to heal Conor's wound it surely was him.  
  
She took out her knife and deliberately prepared the rite. She cut three pieces of wood from a nearby bush and, after cutting them in half, slowly and meticulously carved the symbols that she had never completely forgotten into them. She had chosen. Conor's life was what mattered most to her. The Gods had given her the chance to save him - and she believed in this chance. All her faith, her hopes, all her prayers centred on the rite she was to perform at nightfall. She couldn't fail. And she knew that if she gave all she had, there might just be a faint hope of succeeding.  
  
Her hands trembled and her brow was glistening with fine sweat when she laid down the pieces of wood and watched the sun changing to a bloody red above her. Just in time - dusk already covered the clearing with a shadowy haze that swallowed the bright autumn colours while the sun sank lower in a red golden sky that slowly drowned in the black of night.   
  
This was it - her only chance. Her eyes skimmed Conor's body, noticing how shallow his breaths came and drawing strength from the pain still evident on his stark, pale features.   
  
She took the knife, deliberately, feeling its weight in her hand as she brought it to the earth, slowly drawing the symbol she had seen in her dream, following the invisible stream of blood flowing into three connecting spirals - the symbol of life - the Triskell (1).  
  
She shivered when the wind hushed every sound, brushing through the leaves above her, caressing her cheek with icy fingers.   
  
She placed Ur, a rune for strength and health, above the uppermost spiral of the Triskell; beside the left spiral she wrote As to call on wisdom and knowledge and beside the right spiral she put Wyrd, the rune that symbolizes fate (2).  
  
Her hand skimmed Conor's locks before it came to rest above his heart, covering the freshly bandaged wound. Reverently, she took her flask and let some water drop on the Triskell painted on the ground. Then she put the dry sticks she had broken from the bushes into a small, neat heap and ignited them with two firestones. Her fingers were bruised and bloody by then, but she didn't notice anymore.  
  
She scooped up some of the muddy earth from where she had spilled the water and drew Balder's name on the inside of her left hand with shaky fingers. The little fire suddenly blazed up, then the sticks, white-hot for a moment, broke into thousands of little flakes of ash and the breeze took them up, let them dance and finally settle on Catlin and Conor.  
  
Tears stung in Catlin's eyes, but she brushed them off with the back of her hand. Taking her knife once more, cleaning it as best she could, she drew the rune formula that was to protect Conor from death into his skin, above his heart, above the bandage - Beorc, Eolx and Ken (3).   
  
The wind roared up then, pulling the leaves from the trees, shaking the massive branches of the huge oak, and Catlin covered Conor's body with her own, withstanding the grasp of the cold air around her. She was crying silently, her tears wetting her love's clammy skin. She was beyond caring now, her life wasn't worth anything, all she believed in, all her faith lay in this one chance to save her beloved.  
  
   
  
  
Notes:  
  
(1) Triskell:   
Celtic symbol of life consisting of three spirals flowing into each other that stand for the three elements earth, fire and water.   
  
(2) Runes:  
they were the alphabet of the ancient Nordic Germanic and Anglo-Saxon Tribes - "rune" means "secret" or "hidden" (compare to the Irish word: rún); "As" is a rune often associated with the Nordic godfather Odin, it stands for controlled creative and godly power, for wisdom, knowledge and advice. Wyrd doesn't have a symbol of its own and means karma, destiny and fate.  
  
(3) Beorc, Eolx and Ken:   
this is a rune formula (you can write them with 3, 5 or 7 runes) and it serves to make your wishes come true (really works if you believe in it!!); This formula means approximately the following: successful beginning - healing - getting well (Beorc); protection - success through persistence (Eolx); good health - makes the shadows of uncertainty disappear (Ken; note: Scottish verb "to ken" means to see, understand, know)  
  
I don't know for sure whether this set of runes was used by the Celts or not. They belong to the Futhark, the Nordic Runic Alphabet. Balder, the God I'm using, is a Nordic God as well. I'm perfectly sure that this rite I'm describing sprang from my own distorted imagination and has never actually been performed ;-).   
  
I've learned all this from a little book of mine called "Runen und was sie bedeuten" (Runes and what they mean) by David V. Barrett, published by Stürtz Verlag Würzburg, 1996. 


	3. Part III

**Disclaimer:** The characters of Roar are the copyright property of Ron Koslow and Shaun Cassidy. No copyright infringement is intended. 

PLEASE HAVE A LOOK AT THE END OF THE STORY FOR ADDITIONAL NOTES.  
  
This story takes place approximately five years after "Red Boots" and its assumed that the episodes after it haven't taken place. This story was finally betaed, I take full responsibility for all remaining mistakes and shortcomings ;-).  
  
  


**TRISKELL (1)  
PART THREE**  
© Triskell, 2000

Catlin woke in the middle of the night. It was chilly, a beautiful, starry night, and the hand she had rested on Conor's heart told her it was still beating, a little more regularly even, it seemed. She prayed fervently for this to be real, then she felt a tickle on the inside of her left hand, and, looking at it, saw Balder's name written in shaky letters on her skin.  
  
A sudden impulse made her carefully lay Conor's head on her cloak, covering him with his as best she could, then she walked through the bushes, across the clearing, towards the huge oak tree to find the herbs that had appeared there as if by magic. She sent a silent thank you to Balder, Brigit and the Lord Jesus for this grace and gathered the soft little plants.  
  
Returning to Conor, she used her quiver as mortar. She pounded the herbs with the point of her bow and mixed them with a little water. She put the paste on Conor's wound and bandaged it once again before lying down at his side, hidden in the bushes, and finally giving in to sleep.  
  
~*~  
  
"What do ya make of this?"  
  
"It's a miracle!"  
  
"Thanks to sweet Brigit!"  
  
And Fergus kneeled down on the mossy stones near a little, placid lake overhung by huge trees and pressed his hands against the raw bark of an oak, thanking all the Gods that dwelled in the woods for this perfect little retreat.  
  
It was hard to believe they'd come across it at all. Tully had stumbled, fallen into a cleft between two rocks and - when they had come to his rescue, they'd discovered he'd fallen on fairly soft bushes that hid the entrance to their new Sanctuary.  
  
Molly sat down beside him. "Will we get the others or…pick up Catlin first?"  
  
"It's been five days, lass. I'm sure she's already re-joined the others."  
  
None of them said the thing that was uppermost in their minds - had she already buried Conor or was she taking him back to their band?  
  
"The others are our priority. I suggest we rest here tonight and have another good look around in bright daylight tomorrow, then we'll set to preparing ourselves and the rest for the winter."  
  
Molly nodded and Tully spread out his cloak to settle down for the night.  
  
~*~  
  
Conor stirred in his sleep once again and Catlin held him tight, afraid of his turning onto his wound. She had spent the last days in varying degrees of despair and hope, redressing the deep wound with the herb paste time and again.  
  
It seemed as if Conor were better, now and then, his breathing was steadier and so was his heart-beat and the lines of pain on his face were easing out. Catlin was completely exhausted, but the mere possibility of sleeping longer than a few hours was out of the question for her. She told Conor the ancient stories she had delighted in as a child, singing songs to him, caressing his brow to keep away bad dreams.  
  
Even in sleep, Catlin always felt Conor's heart beat beneath her hand and she rested more easily in the knowledge that she had done everything in her power to save him.  
  
~*~  
  
Conor woke for a short while now and then, never really taking in his surroundings. He still felt weary, but the pain that had become a part of him had ebbed away and he slept deeply, dreaming of the rolling hills of his home country, the Gods and creatures of the Otherworld and the great heroes of times long gone. It had been like a journey through the ages, the lives of his ancestors and waking he felt like he was back home, in the safety of his mother's arms.   
  
It was on a cold night some days later that he woke and for the first time knew where he was. The stars shone brightly in the sky above him and he felt the rough wool of his cloak against his bare skin. He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his chest prevented him and he sank back with a groan. Almost immediately, he felt a cool hand on his cheek, a voice hushing him, telling him he was safe. And he realized it was not his mother's voice.  
  
He replayed the events he still remembered in his mind and found that, up until a moment of losing his concentration, he had been in a fight with the Romans. The next thing had been pain - more intense than anything he had ever felt before. He had fallen, probably against Catlin…Catlin! Was she hurt? If she had stumbled, then maybe she had been wounded…  
  
"Sshh…it's alright, you're safe here." A cool hand smoothing his locks from his forehead, a soft voice soothing him, drawing the tension out of his body.  
  
"Catlin?" he mumbled uncertainly.  
  
"Conor? You're awake! Good Lord Jesus, I…you're awake!"  
  
He saw her face, dimly illuminated by the full moon above them, shadows playing across her pale skin. She was smiling, and her eyes were sparkling with tears and an emotion he couldn't define. He wanted to ask her so many things, but she laid her finger against his lips. "Rest now, Conor, we can talk tomorrow."  
  
He closed his eyes obediently, wondering if he'd have shown the same cooperation if it had been Fergus urging him to sleep…  
  
~*~  
  
The tour of the new Sanctuary had proven most satisfying. There was enough room for all of them, no caves though, but trees growing close to the rocks, it would be easily possible to erect some makeshift huts there and there was plenty of water as well. The greatest plus was, of course, the security. The Romans, even if they happened to come across the place, wouldn't be able to attack; there were too many trees and rocks hindering their passage. There was only the one narrow passageway to get in and out.  
  
"They could starve us to death, you know."  
  
"Or they could be stupid enough to come through one by one. Either way, we have no choice, Da. This is the best we can find and we mustn't lose any more time. Look at the sky! It'll be snowing soon."  
br "We'd better get everyone here as fast as possible…covering up traces in fresh snow isn't all that easy…"  
  
Fergus grunted passively, turning round to look at the place again. "Tully, you and Molly get the others, while I prepare for their arrival. I'll get some wood, begin building shelter…"  
  
"Alright, Da. We'll be back in a couple of days."  
  
Fergus nodded. He didn't much like the idea of those two travelling all alone, but he'd have to stop thinking of every man as a potential threat to his little daughter. She was a woman, and she knew what she wanted. Apart from that, he was worn out and he wanted some time to himself…to pray for Conor's soul. Not that he would have told anyone, of course…  
  
~*~  
  
When Conor woke, the morning sun was glittering in a pale winter sky, a fresh wind was blowing and he shivered a little. Catlin settled down beside him, pulling her cloak off her shoulders and putting it on top of his. He tried to protest, but she hushed him. She looked tired, he noticed, and her eyes were weary, as if she'd fought a great battle she wasn't yet sure she had won.  
  
"You were wounded. We decided that the others should go on, looking for a new Sanctuary and that I'd stay here and…take care of you."  
  
The little pause and the look in her face told him that there was something more, something she wasn't telling him. "When was that?" His voice sounded hoarse, more like a croak. There was a voice at the back of his mind telling him that he had thought it was over when he was wounded, that he had been dying… Catlin put her hand behind his neck, raising his head to let him drink some water while she answered him.  
  
"About ten days ago - you slept most of the time. You…had a fever, but it's gone now."  
  
It didn't seem as if she would voluntarily say more. Conor sighed softly. "I'll find out what you don't tell me."  
  
Catlin smiled. "There's nothing more to tell."  
  
He knew it was pointless trying to argue at this point, so he acquiesced and narrowed his eyes, blinking against the sun.   
  
"Do you think you can move? Only a little, I mean. Just in case a Roman patrol comes by."  
  
Conor gave a grunt, and then grinned. "We'll just have to give it a try then, won't we?" His voice still sounded dreadful, but it nevertheless seemed to have a remarkable effect on his friend. Her smiled deepened and her face was radiant with happiness. He realized that he must have indeed been on the verge of death, if a croak from him brought a change like this to her features.  
  
Catlin carefully eased him into a sitting position and he groaned against gritted teeth. Yet he knew as well as she did that they were in relatively open terrain here, and therefore might be seen. It took both of them a great deal effort and strength of will to make the journey into the thicker underbrush, but they succeeded nevertheless, taking their time and pausing to rest every few steps.  
  
Conor let himself fall onto his makeshift bed heavily, groaning as his wound stung from the impact. Catlin came back a few moments later, easing herself into a sitting position close to him, with a few little utensils around her. She carefully began to unwind the bandage and re-dressed the wound.  
  
Conor watched her closely all the while, the way her light-brown hair danced on the breeze or tumbled into her face, savouring the feel of her hands on his skin. It was odd in a way, but he liked being touched by her…  
  
  
   
Notes:  
  
(1) Triskell:   
Celtic symbol of life consisting of three spirals flowing into each other that stand for the three elements earth, fire and water.


	4. Part IV

**Disclaimer:** The characters of Roar are the copyright property of Ron Koslow and Shaun Cassidy. No copyright infringement is intended. 

PLEASE HAVE A LOOK AT THE END OF THE STORY FOR ADDITIONAL NOTES.  
  
This story takes place approximately five years after "Red Boots" and its assumed that the episodes after it haven't taken place. This story was recently betaed, I take full responsibility for all mistakes and shortcomings that are still to be found in it ;D.  
  
  


**TRISKELL (1)  
PART FOUR**  
© Triskell, 2000

Fergus had just about finished the preparations for the arrival of those coming to the new shelter. He had spent the last days working as long as the sun was out, hardly giving himself a chance to rest. His inaptitude to protect Conor gnawed at him and the ruthlessness with which he had left the lad behind with Catlin.  
  
He knew deep inside that he hadn't been able to prevent Conor's being injured. By sweet Brigit, they'd all been in need of sleep, of rest and had barely managed to win the fight. He had to admit, their success was also largely due to Catlin's transformation into a whirlwind fury, chilling the soldiers' blood and dealing out killing blows wherever she struck. What was most amazing, if he thought about it, was that she had done all this with Conor's sword - that was one heavy weapon, and it was hard to imagine the raw rage the poor lass must have been in to be able to summon the strength to wield it at all…  
  
Wherever Catlin was right now, her heart was probably even heavier than his was. She had seen the lad die, had buried him with her own hands…it would be a while yet, but Fergus knew they'd all go to pray for his soul at his grave…  
  
He heard a rustle in the foliage behind him and, calculating swiftly and seeing the impossibility of it being Molly or Tully, made ready to face his death, when, on turning round, he saw…  
br "Conor!"   
  
His eyes widened, his breath caught in his throat…  
  
"You should…sweet Brigit…lad, it's you! Sweet Brigit, you're…"  
  
He didn't even notice that a few tears had slipped past his barriers and were running down his cheeks as he ran towards the young man, scooping him up in a bear hug, only then realizing that Catlin held him up…  
  
"Oh, sorry, I forgot…" He grinned sheepishly, patting Conor's shoulder in what he hoped was a reasonable, calm and fatherly gesture. It only succeeded in Catlin's grin spreading even wider across her face and a suppressed giggle escaping her lips. Fergus coughed, averted his eyes, and then grunted, indicating the makeshift shelter he'd just finished setting up.  
  
"You ought to lie down, lad."  
  
Conor nodded perspiration on his forehead. When Catlin grabbed him tighter round the waist, pulling him up, Fergus noticed her tired, worn features for the first time and made haste to take the young man's weight off her. He led Conor towards the shelter, settling him down on his cloak. Catlin joined them, took off her cape and sank onto the ground beside her friend.  
  
"I need some water, Fergus. And…a clean bandage would be nice too. Something to eat, if possible…"  
  
Once again, the elder man shrank back a little as he looked into her eyes. She was so…demanding in this. But, seeing how tired and fragile she looked, he decided that teasing would have to wait for a while, and, chuckling, he went to do her bidding.  
  
Catlin bandaged Conor's wound, urging him to eat a few bites and to drink plenty of water. Fergus kept out of the way, astonished at the firm gentleness evident in every of her gestures. When she laid back Conor's head, the young man tried to say something, but she hushed him, shaking her head. "Just sleep, you've had a long day."  
  
He complied, and Catlin rose, motioning for Fergus to join her. They sat by the little lake in silence for a while.  
  
"What happened out there, lass?"  
  
Catlin shook her head. "Don't ask me, not now. I…I'd just like to get some rest, you know. Wake me at midday so I can re-do Conor's bandage, will you?"  
  
She rose slowly, as if every movement afforded an immense will power. Fergus grunted, taking her arm and leading her to a nice little place beneath the foliage, where she slumped down immediately. He left her for a moment and on returning found her fast asleep already, and his frown deepened while he carefully covered her with his cloak. By Brigit, the lass sure had had more than her fill of exertion and toil in the past weeks…  
  
~*~  
  
Tully and Molly sat by the fire, nervously looking around. It had taken but four days to get to the others, yet, having the whole group going back with them, they had to be far more careful and so they kept to the deepest parts of the woods, and that greatly hindered their progressing at normal speed.  
  
They were both tired, the events of the past weeks etched into their minds, haunting them time and again.   
  
"I can't believe he's gone. I mean…I know he must be, given what I have seen of his state but…"  
  
"I know, Tully, it's as if there was something telling you not to give him up."  
  
They grinned at each other, seeking comfort in closeness. "It won't take us more than two or three days now…"   
  
Molly nodded. "I'll take the first watch."  
  
~*~  
  
Catlin woke with a start when Fergus touched her shoulder. She'd been dreaming of so many things, colours, places and faces, all mingled into a horrible farce. Her first thought was for Conor and she gasped at not feeling his body close to hers as she had for the past weeks.  
  
"Conor…"  
  
"He's still asleep, lass. Ya wanted to change the bandage at midday, you remember?"  
  
She nodded. "I'm sorry…it was a…hard time."  
  
"Will you tell me about it?"  
  
Catlin flinched. "I can't. All you need to know is that when Conor was well enough to move a little, we began to slowly try and catch up with you. I have no clue as to why we took the path that brought us here, but we were tired and I thought I heard the sound of an axe, so I crept around a bit, and I saw you working…that's all."  
  
Fergus nodded. "Brigit brought you here, that's for sure and certain."  
  
Catlin smiled. "And Jesus too…"  
  
The elder man grinned. "Whatever or whoever it was, lass, you're here and you're both well. That's all that matters."  
  
~*~  
  
It was early morning and the sun was just rising in the pale winter sky. Snowflakes were brushing the faces of the people, softly falling across the shadowed land.  
  
"Thank Brigit we're here. I thought we'd never make it before the first snow."  
  
Tully grinned. "Aye, we sure were lucky. You'd better go and warn Fergus we're coming or he'll be on us with his sword…"  
  
Molly winked, amusement glittering in her eyes while she climbed down between the rocks. She caught sight of her father coming out of one of the shelters and waved as he looked up. A happy grin spread over his face and he beckoned her to come to him. She nodded, going back once more to let Tully know it was all right, and then she ran into Fergus' open arms.  
  
"Ya will not believe it, lass. It is Brigit's doing, of that I'm sure…" Fergus broke off, motioning for Tully to join them. He told them to be quiet, leading them towards one of the shelters and opening the door a little, to let them see inside.  
  
Molly gasped and Tully shook his head, looking at the still, sleeping figure of Conor lying there, alive and breathing as if they'd just imagined he was dying. They retreated on tiptoe and, as soon as they were out of earshot, began raining questions on Fergus.  
  
"Hey, keep it down, will you? I don't know how…but a few days ago, Catlin and Conor were here, standing in front of me. She wouldn't tell me what happened, and I doubt she'll tell either of you, but she said that something led the two of them here, so I'm sure it was Brigit who saved the lad and brought them both back to us."  
  
"I don't care how, as long as Conor's alive."  
  
Tully agreed heartily, and Fergus added in a low whisper: "No use asking Catlin - it's only gonna upset her. What about the others? Did you tell them Conor was dead?"  
  
Molly smiled. "We never got about to doing it. We thought it was better to let them think everything was fine. As if we had known that it would be."  
  
~*~  
  
Conor was beginning to feel a lot better, he could sit up on his own and his wound was healing exceptionally well. Catlin came twice each day, dressing the wound silently, averting her eyes and not speaking to him. She seemed so distant and distracted he gave up asking her how she was. Molly, Tully and Fergus visited him at intervals, telling him stories, gossiping or just keeping him company.  
  
"Do you know what's wrong with Catlin, Tully? I've never seen her like this. She barely notices me when I talk to her."  
  
"Can't tell you. She seems troubled by something - and she steadfastly refuses to tell us what happened in the woods, how she came across the herbs to cure you."  
  
"Today I looked more closely as she bandaged my wound and I saw that right above it, there was something on my skin that looked like…well, letters."  
  
Tully helped Conor to open the bandage, and then he leaned back on his heels and let out a deep breath.  
  
"My, Conor, do you know that you've got a rune formula (3) written on your skin here? And I can assure you that it wasn't there before we left - so only Catlin can have…"  
  
"That's impossible. She believes in Jesus, not in the old gods. She'd never write down runes, that would mean dishonouring her beliefs…she'd never even consider this."  
  
"I'm not so sure. You know she's the kind of woman who'd do just about anything to save the life of someone she cares for. Even if it meant defying her god."  
  
Conor shook his head. If this was true, and, considering the evidence it was hard not to believe it, then Catlin had given up a part of herself for him. This was the kind of gift he'd never be able to repay - he sighed softly. He needed to know what had happened.   
  
Molly confirmed his suspicions. He had been dying, left with Catlin, as there seemed no way of saving him. And yet he was here, he was breathing and his wound was healing instead of having led him straight into the Otherworld…  
  
~*~  
  
The air was icy, but no one cared much for it, the fires had been lit and preparations for the evening's celebration of winter solstice (4) had begun already. Snowflakes still danced from the grey skies, adding to the soft cover that already lay on the wintry earth.  
  
Conor grimaced while dressing himself slowly. Catlin had left the herb paste with him a few days ago, telling him to change the bandage twice a day. He hadn't seen her since then, but until now he had felt too weak to go and look for her. He wouldn't bother Tully or Molly; they were too much engrossed in the planning of the festivities and Fergus had taken to hunting for the big event and had no time to spare for him.  
  
Taking a few careful steps, Conor winced as a stab of pain traveled across his chest. But he could keep himself upright, walk around even without feeling nauseous, so he tried his best to forget about the dull, thudding ache and concentrate on finding Catlin.  
  
He had asked almost everyone, before he finally met with the desired answer: "Aye, I saw the lass. She seemed a little distracted as she passed, in that direction."  
  
Conor nodded his thanks, and forced himself along. He rested every few feet, pulling his cloak closer around his body to ward off the chill. It took him a long time to get to the edge of the woods and even longer before he found Catlin. She was sitting on a log, motionless, staring at the white stillness about her.  
  
He deliberately tried making a noise to attract her attention and she looked up, distraught. He saw the marks of tears on her reddened cheeks and longed to brush her sorrow away, to hold her and keep her safe from the pain that overshadowed the fresh blue of her eyes.  
  
"May I sit with you?"  
  
Catlin nodded, quenching the impulse to run to him and support him as he walked towards the log. He wouldn't appreciate her treating him like fragile pottery. Conor sat down beside her, taking her hand in his when she averted her eyes once again. She shivered at his touch and he noticed absentmindedly how cold her hand was when he began to speak,  
  
"I know you don't want to talk about this, Catlin. I would respect it too, if I weren't involved - but I can't help feeling that whatever's bothering you is closely connected with me, and my being wounded."  
  
"Don't ask me, please."  
  
Conor sighed softly, taking her chin and turning her head towards him, forcing her to meet his eyes. "You know you can trust me, Catlin, don't you?"  
  
She nodded, tears forming and running along her cheeks. He brushed them away with his thumb, then put his arms around her and held her close. She tried to pull back, afraid of hurting him, but his embrace was tight and she couldn't resist the temptation of just leaning against him, safe and warm in the knowledge that he cared for her.  
  
They sat like this for a long time, and then Catlin pulled away abruptly, taking a deep breath. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and met Conor's gaze.   
  
"I will tell you, once, and you must promise never to ask me or mention it again. This is solely between us, and I…want you to forget all of it when I've finished. Anything that…follows these events is something I must and want to deal with on my own."  
  
Conor nodded his agreement, and Catlin began haltingly,  
  
"I had a dream. It was…I remembered my grandmother and…her stories. There was a triskell, and…I saw it again, in another dream. I just…it was like a sign from the Gods and I…prepared a rite to call to Balder (5)…and I performed it. Then I found the herbs for the paste at the foot of a great oak and… waited for you to come around."  
  
Conor's eyes darkened. So she had performed a rite that to her beliefs was heathen in order to save his life. Tully had been right. But he still didn't know why she had done it… Catlin sighed.  
  
"You want to know why, don't you?"  
  
He nodded.  
  
"Jesus is in my soul, he's saved my spirit and lent me the grace of his mercy more than once. But you…you're in my heart, and I believe in the strength and comfort my…love for you give me…"  
  
She broke off, and rose, blushing slightly. She hadn't wanted him to know. Not like this. But it was done and she felt at once elated and full of despair. All she wanted was to be alone; she couldn't look at him and turned into the woods without another word.  
  
~*~  
  
Conor was dumbfounded. He just stared after her, unable to call her back, unable to run after her. When he could no longer make out her silhouette in the drifting snow, he closed his eyes, feeling the earth answer him, the Roar rising in his heart.  
  
Catlin loved him - and apparently without the hope of his returning her affections. It was high time to reconsider his feelings for her - he had, admittedly, often thought about her lately. But not of her face, her body or her smile - about who she was, the person, the woman that was so strong and passionate, so true and…  
  
Conor smiled, lifting his eyes to the skies, feeling the soft snowflakes caressing his cheek, melting against his warm skin…like Catlin's touches when she took care of him. He had known a home in her arms, a comfort and serenity that seemed to have gone to the Otherworld with Claire and his family on that fateful day.  
  
He still thought of his lost lover with a deep tenderness, he had discovered the meaning of love with her for the first time, but time had passed and her memory had faded slowly. Though he hadn't believed it possible, Catlin had found her way into the part of his heart he had locked tightly when Claire died. He had vowed not to love another the way he had loved her - and he knew that he hadn't broken his promise, even now.  
  
No one could ever replace Claire. And Catlin was no replacement - she was the fulfilment of his dreams, the woman who had ignited a fire in him that had grown steadily, until it was burning clearly and brightly, its all-consuming flame warming his heart and comforting his soul. She was the one, and he had to make sure she knew just how much he cared.  
  
Being Catlin's friend, he didn't think she'd readily accept a declaration of his as the truth when it was made at a point where she had told him she had saved his life by giving so much of herself. She would, of course, mistake his love for pity and overpowering gratitude. So he'd have to overcome her doubts once and for all…  
  
~*~  
  
Fergus grumbled and grunted irritably when he came back from hunting only to find Conor waiting for him, sending him off on an errand.  
  
"Ya know lad, I'm no servant of yours. Ya can do that yourself, I'm sure."  
  
"Trust me, I've got a good reason for sending you. It's going to be a surprise and I don't want anyone to know."  
  
"Who's it for? You're not going to…ask something of Molly…?"  
  
"No, it's not Molly. She's more in Tully's league, if you know what I mean…"  
  
Fergus frowned at Conor's mischievous grin, shaking his head. "Tully, eh…we'll see about that."  
  
"Will you go now?"  
  
"Aye, but you owe me, lad."  
  
Conor just kept on grinning. Now all he needed was a little help in luring Catlin into a little trap…  
  
~*~  
  
The sun was setting in bloody reds, flaming oranges and golden hues and the fires danced in the evening breeze. Catlin had just returned from her walk, and, not seeing Conor anywhere round, settled down on a log, her eyes tired and tinged with a deep sadness.  
  
"Catlin! I've been looking everywhere for you!"  
  
Molly sat down beside her friend, nudging her in the side companionably. "I got to show you something, I'm sure you'll love it." She giggled, taking Catlin's hand, pulling her up. She tugged the young woman along behind her, steering her towards the huge brushes that hid one side of the lake from view. They stood, gazing at the still, icy water that lay between them and the dense foliage.  
  
"There's nothing here, Molly. At least not as far as I can see…"  
  
Molly grinned, good-humouredly. "Oh, there is, you'll see!"  
  
A rustling in the branches of a bush opposite them attracted their attention. A tiny sparkle appeared, drifting towards them. It was a burning stick, attached to a piece of bark that floated on the lake.   
  
"Look! Let's get it out and have a good look at it!"  
  
"I don't want to play games tonight, Molly."  
  
Her friend grinned, moving to take a long branch and helping the makeshift ship along its way. She finally managed to get it close to the shores and scooped it up, extinguishing the flame in the process and presented it to Catlin. The young woman took the bark, noticing how the water shimmered in the dim moonlight.  
  
"What's this?"  
  
But Molly seemed to have vanished, and Catlin stood alone at the shores, the dark bluish black water looming in front of her. She shook her head, fairly sure it was some kind of joke that her friends were playing on her, hoping to cheer her up.  
  
Catlin almost jumped out of her skin, when she felt a soft touch on her shoulder - she hadn't heard anyone coming and, on turning around, came face to face with Conor. She flinched, backed away, but he caught hold of her arms, pulling her against him. She tried to wriggle free, only to feel him embracing her tightly, pinning her arms against her body. She wanted to say something but found her lips taken in a soft, gentle kiss. The little boat slipped from her hands and fell to the ground unnoticed.  
  
Her mind screamed for her to resist him, to push him away, but her heart and body responded eagerly to his touch. If only for a moment, she wanted to savour this closeness, this connection. When the kiss ended, Catlin once again tried to get away from him, but Conor still pressed her close to his body, bending forward slightly to whisper in her ear,  
  
"I love you and, by Brigit, I'd be a fool if I let you get away from me again."  
  
Catlin shivered, not believing what she heard. Pity - he pities me, thinks he owes me something - it's just gratitude - these thoughts echoed in her mind and she fervently tried to convince herself that this couldn't be true, that she was just imagining it. But Conor's body, his steady heartbeat that had almost become a part of her while she tended to him, his warmth and the way his breath caressed her neck belied her efforts to brush the whole thing off that easily.   
  
"I don't pity you, Catlin. And no matter how much you do for me - I could never belittle you or your feelings for me by pretending I care more for you than I really do."  
  
He knew what she was thinking! And she felt her resolve to leave weaken as the truth trickled into her brain, washing away her fears and uncertainties.  
  
"You really care for me…"  
  
He silenced her with another kiss, and she let herself fall, drowning in the overwhelming happiness that came upon her. Conor finally let go of her arms and she wrapped them around his neck, drawing him still closer towards her and cherishing the warmth of his hands on her hips.  
  
~*~  
  
"Where in the name of the gods is Conor?"  
  
"Don't wait for him, Da, he's busy at the moment."  
  
"What do ya mean, busy? He's the leader of this band here, and it's winter solstice - it's his privilege, nay, his duty to lead the dances."  
  
"Give him a bit of time, Fergus. He might be turning up a bit later, you know."  
  
"The lot of you is driving me crazy! First Conor's sending me to get that ring of his, then he doesn't turn up - that's not funny, Molly!"  
  
"Well, I can just about guess what he's gonna do with the ring, Da. And as for not being here - you of all people should be able to understand that."  
  
She winked at Tully, and then they both grinned widely.  
  
"Seems like we gotta start the dance ourselves - you coming, Molly?"  
  
Fergus opened his mouth to say something, but Tully had already whisked his daughter away and was twirling her around near the fire…  
  
~*~  
  
"I have something for you."  
  
Catlin lifted her head from where it rested comfortably on Conor's shoulder and smiled up at him. He grinned back, brushing her lips softly with his before handing her a little leather-wrapped item. She took it, carefully opening it to reveal a small metal ring that glimmered a silvery white.  
  
"I know we believe in different gods, but I'd still like to spend the rest of my life with you by my side and I guess we could find a way to get married, if you are willing."  
  
Catlin's heart skipped a beat, then her smile deepened and it seemed to her as if heaven itself was opening before her.  
  
"Aye, I am willing."  
  
She slipped the ring on her finger as Conor's hand cupped her chin and he bent down to kiss her again. Hearing the voices of the others drifting towards them more clearly now, she wondered for a moment if they would be missed.  
  
"I bet Fergus will get me for not coming tonight." Conor whispered, his wide, happy grin belying the earnest tone, however, and Catlin snuggled closer to him once again.  
  
They sat still by the side of the lake, the pale moonlight enhancing their silhouettes in a ghostly haze and the night passed away into their memory as the first of many happy ones they shared in the following years despite the raging war and the looming uncertainty around them.  
  
  
THE END.  
  
  
Notes:  
  
(1) Triskell:   
Celtic symbol of life consisting of three spirals flowing into each other that stand for the three elements earth, fire and water.   
  
(2) Runes:  
they were the alphabet of the ancient Nordic Germanic and Anglo-Saxon Tribes - "rune" means "secret" or "hidden" (compare to the Irish word: rún)  
  
(3) Rune formula:  
you can write them with 3, 5 or 7 runes and they serve to make your wishes come true (really works if you believe in it!!); I don't know for sure whether runes were used by the Celts or not, but they are so beautifully mystical that I couldn't resist. Balder, the God I'm using, is a Nordic God as well, so don't sue me for using him ;-). I'm perfectly sure, however, that this rite I'm describing sprang from my own distorted imagination and hasn't ever actually been performed ;-).   
  
I've learned all this from a little book of mine called "Runen und was sie bedeuten" (Runes and what they mean) by David V. Barrett, published by Stürtz Verlag Würzburg, 1996.  
  
(4) Winter solstice:   
December 21st, shortest day of the year; one of the most important Celtic festivals  
  
(5) Balder, Nordic God of runes and herb medicine.


End file.
